


crossed wires

by lemoninagin



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angry Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Lance (Voltron), Closet Sex, First Time, Hand Jobs, Humiliation, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Post-Battle Hookup, takes place sometime when shiro was gone and keith was leading
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-25 01:56:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20716184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemoninagin/pseuds/lemoninagin
Summary: There’s something they don’t always prepare you for in a space exploration program.Society crumbles. Falls right out beneath you.Somewhere along the line, Lance McClain finds himself on the receiving end of this phenomena.





	crossed wires

**Author's Note:**

> me, nine months ago on last published story around christmas: i will continue writing for this fandom throughout the next year!!!
> 
> also me: ok but what if i write a million things that i never publish or ever show another human being ever what if i also do that instead of finishing an 80k slow burn that took forever to develop and everyone is patiently following what if i

There’s something they don’t always prepare you for in a space exploration program. 

Wires tend to get crossed once you leave the planet. Along with becoming less grounded, you're less inhibited. Time and space and morality blur together until nothing seems to matter much anymore. 

Every time you see that vast darkness encompassing everything, you forget the boundaries that once confined you to your old life. 

Society crumbles. Falls right out beneath you.

Somewhere along the line, Lance McClain finds himself on the receiving end of this phenomena.

“Keith, I—Woah—” 

“Come with me,” gets growled across his lips. “Just shut up and come with me for a second.”

Lance _ does _ shut his mouth as Keith’s hot breath coasts over his face, but that's more because he's refraining from telling him that he should go fuck off. The hand around his wrist is nothing if insistent. He’s shoved into a supply closet—which, _ nasty _—there’s plenty of conference halls and spare rooms around the ship. Keith doesn’t need to push him amongst the Altean equivalent of a janitor’s wet dream.

He’s going to smell terrible later.

As soon as the door clicks behind them, Lance no longer sees the point in holding back. He yells in the shadows that envelop them.

“Don’t tell me to _ shut up_, you made me miss my mark! You called us back right when it was getting good, what the hell is wrong with you? We were _ so _ close to beating them.”

Keith doesn’t respond. Lance thinks he might be looking at him, but it’s hard to tell in the dark lighting. 

He has no right to even do that.

Lance is still too heated, still feeling adrenaline coursing through him because Keith just _ couldn’t _let him have one thing, _ couldn’t _trust him enough to— 

Lance gets a firm hold onto what feels like Keith’s chest, and pushes. “We—we could have taken them out!”

“No,” Keith replies flatly, “we couldn’t have.”

He’s too calm as he stumbles through a cluster of hanging clothes, not elaborating further than that. As Lance's eyes adjust, he can make out that Keith's simply rolling up the sleeves of his suit, as if in preparation for a fight. 

Boy, is Lance ever ready. “Why the fuck not?”

“Because, Lance. It would have been at the cost of you being left open, possibly getting shot. That isn’t an option I’m willing to explore. Now, can you just chill out and listen to me?”

Lance blinks, his hands waving all about, jostling the jackets surrounding them. Keith takes a step closer rather than out of the line of fire. The move pisses Lance off more.

“You’re the worst leader ever. You know that? The universe demands sacrifices sometimes, you've said so yourself! It woulda been worth it. You coulda put me in the healing pod after! Seriously, you suck ass.”

He makes to turn on his heel, storm out the door, if he can find the doorknob. Instead, rough, gloved hands bind him in place—one around his waist, one firmly planted on his shoulder. He’s pulled in tight against the hard line of Keith’s body.

Lance raises a brow, rage revving every inch of his body into sense overdrive. It suddenly feels like he can’t breathe that well with Keith in his space. There’s something about the tiny puffs of breath coasting across his neck, the fingers beginning to curl into his suit. Keith smells—surprisingly good, this close. The leftover grime of battle doesn't mask the overpowering scent of his sweat, the long fight carved in the lines of mud and blood still creasing the corners of his down-turned lips.

It shouldn’t be attractive. It _ should _ be making Lance recoil, fighting to regain normality through a thinly veiled joke about how he should really take a fucking shower. 

Keith stares him down. They’re close enough that their noses brush when he says lowly, “You’re fooling yourself if you think Shiro would’ve _ever _ gone for a ridiculous move like that.”

All it takes is seeing Keith’s cold, hardened expression for Lance to know he shouldn’t have gone there. Mentioning Shiro during this sensitive time is asking for more trouble than it’s worth. What Keith plans to do with him from this point on, Lance isn't sure, but if he had to take a wild guess he'd assume he's about to be punched. 

And honestly, he’d have no complaints—he'd take it with a smile, even. It’s what he wants, after all. 

For a split second, all Lance can hear is the increasing beating of his own heart and Keith's labored breathing at his ear. His gaze flicks to Keith’s lips. Without really thinking about it, Lance reaches a hand to them. The dark makes him feel bolder than usual.

“You don’t know shit, Kogane.” He smooths his thumb along his bottom lip. “Shiro wouldn’t have let me, he would have _ commanded _ it of me, which you seem to lack the spine for.”

Keith’s eyes narrow, and he flinches away from the soft touch. Lance can feel nails digging into his hips. Yeah, he can already visualize that fist about to connect with his face. He doesn’t even know why he said that, why he’s even lashing out at Keith in the first place. 

It’s not his fault he’s not good at this. It’s not his fault Shiro’s gone. It’s Lance’s own insecurity that makes him say it, he knows this, that lies deep down inside him. An insecurity that becomes more misplaced as time goes on, and he sees how the mere thought of getting shot is doing things to Keith he would have never thought would become a reality.

As in all things with them lately, the wire frays regardless. Their relationship becomes rerouted—_became rerouted_—somewhere along the line and they both know they can’t go back. In a flash, anger turns to heat turns to desire. Keith huffs a short breath through his nose, and then he’s leaning in, pulling Lance’s head closer with a firm hand at his nape.

Lance isn’t opposed to the lips that come to cover his, urgent and warm. It’s not often he is. A warm body is usually a warm body, but the glaring problem here isn’t that it’s Keith. 

The problem is that it _ hasn’t _ been Keith until this very moment.

“Mhm,” Lance hums, half in surprise, half in immediate compliance.

Then there's fingers at his scalp, whispering through his hair as Keith parts their lips, deepening the kiss. Lance has no idea what's going on anymore. They grope each other in gradual fragments in the middle of the closet, trying to get closer, until Lance feels a wall and maybe what could be a mop handle digging into the small of his back (like he said, _ gross_).

Eventually, they make it work. They readjust positions, Keith’s thigh wedged between his own, groins shifting into place together. When Keith finally pulls away, Lance chases after the feeling, mind hazy. Instantly sedated.

“What are you…” 

Lance gulps the leftover words in his throat, mouth dry. He can see Keith through his lidded eyes clearer as he presses ever closer, sliding a hand across his stomach, then around his waist towards the zipper of his suit. He wrenches Lance’s head by his hair and presses his knee between his legs. A needy sound escapes Lance that he will never, ever admit to later.

“You think you can just _ choose _ to die? Huh?” Keith hisses.

Despite his position, Lance wants to tell him that he _ does_. That he can do whatever the fuck he wants without the stupid limits of their supposed team leader, even if it means ending his own life. Even though he knows he’s acting irrationally and that Keith’s right. As Keith slips a hand into his suit, any retaliating thoughts quickly die before reaching his tongue, though. It’s far from Lance’s proudest moment.

“You don’t get to talk to me about sacrifices, or decide when to make them,” Keith continues. His tongue is dragging along the side of Lance's neck while he decides not to play coy any longer and closes his grip around his cock, thumb tracing a thin line down the length. “Not on my watch you don’t. Not on_ my _ command. You’re too valuable to be some suicide mission.”

He bites down before Lance can try to revive his mouth into saying something halfway coherent, and Lance has to clap a palm to his lips. It burns in the best way, tingling a hot trail of pain that sends signals right to his groin. He forgot how much he missed this feeling, being wanted. Being touched in all the places he’s most sensitive.

Lance shudders as Keith laps at the blood that’s surely resting there, reaching to steady himself upon the armor at Keith’s chest. He notices that his hands are shaking. Not one to be outdone, he thrusts into the grip that’s bringing him to full hardness, bordering on the fine edge of too rough, but agreeable for the time being. 

Of fucking course, Keith is good at this.

“Understood? Is that a clear enough order for you, Lance?”

“Oh, _ crystal_,” Lance mocks, hips rocking faster. “_Sooo _ crystal now that you’re just feeling me up in this broom closet, really, that makes _ total sense _ —ah, ah. _ Keith_.”

The strokes increase in urgency. Rough, too rough now. Lance pushes Keith’s hips away from him, fumbling with the side of the wall for leverage. No longer agreeable. Keith’s going to kill him. 

“Please. Slower.”

Keith at least eases at the request. Once Lance can open his eyes and breathe again, he meets Keith’s gaze, which hasn’t lost its intensity. It’s possible he hasn’t stopped watching his face the entire time, which makes Lance feel more flushed than ever. He moans despite telling himself he would never stoop to such a level.

Keith’s hair is damp at his brow. There’s some Galra’s blood matting a good chunk of the rest of it. It should smell awful, but it doesn’t as Lance drops his head into it, hiding his face. He can’t stand to see that glare anymore.

A thousand times Lance feels he’s been on the receiving end of that familiar look, a thousand times always culminating in some fight between them. Keith isn’t calm at all, Lance realizes. He’s pissed beyond belief. More than Lance has probably ever seen him before.

“Sensitive?” Keith asks, tilting his head until soft lips are grazing Lance's ear. Acting like he isn’t as upset by all this as he’s letting on.

There’s a bit of a tease lying there, obvious enough that Lance can catch the glimmer of his teeth forming into a smirk from the corner of his eye. But because Keith is usually running somewhat serious at all times, the other reason for the question seems to be genuine curiosity, plain and simple.

“Y-yeah...” Lance mutters. “Yeah, um. Not usually, okay? But this is. Oh my _ god. _” 

“Feel better now?”

Lance nods enthusiastically. He doesn’t know if Keith is asking about the actual act, or if he’s asking if he’s feeling better in general, but either way, the answer is yes. 

Those teeth find their way once again to his neck, skimming it. They latch on, pricking his skin hard, because Keith’s tiny Galra fangs are way sharper than Lance could have ever anticipated. He definitely means business, and Lance pretends he isn’t asking for more because of that very thought alone.

This time, it’s too slow. Fucking torture. Keith thumbs over his head, grinding down onto the wetness lying there. He’s pumping his length with a cool, easy slide of his palm, taking his time squeezing as he moves along a pulsing vein. 

Desperately, Lance tries to get him to set a pace that’s a happy medium between the two ends of the spectrum. He cants his hips, arches his back. Manages to lift his head in the thick of it, staring into Keith’s eyes. He’s starting to whimper, completely unintentionally, which doesn’t get him anywhere good. 

With hungry eyes, he watches in awe as Keith drops to his knees. He looks so good there, _ so _natural that way, and Lance is on the verge of losing his goddamn mind—it’s blanking out as his flight suit is peeled to his thighs, sticking fast around his armor. The sweat from the battle has barely even cooled there.

Warm lips like velvet wrap around him, take him in deep. As much to the hilt as Keith can manage, since he knows nothing about the meaning of moderation. What he can’t quite fit in his mouth he coaxes a hand over, pumping rhythmically. Lance doesn’t bother to cover his noises this time. He’s going to cum within seconds, it’s too much.

Keith is nothing if sloppy, thorough, while Lance momentarily finds himself wondering if Galra don’t have gag reflexes. He’s making these tiny gurgling sounds as Lance threads a hand into his hair, sliding into his mouth slow at first, and then fucking in earnest when it doesn’t seem to bother Keith all that much. No complaints, just taking it, his sounds morphing into unabashed moaning. Allowing Lance to use him like a fucktoy.

Close, close, he’s so _ close_— 

Right before white coats his vision, the heat leaves him. His cock is left cold out in the open. Hard, aching. Lance’s eyes widen, gaping in disbelief as Keith gathers himself to his feet.

“You want to choose death so bad, then I’m choosing to stop. You don’t listen for shit. That behavior’s not worth rewarding.” 

Keith wipes off his mouth with the back of his hand. He licks the precum from his fingers, glancing to Lance’s cock as he sucks the tip of each one. Lance groans. 

“So easily riled, I swear,” Keith laughs, almost fondly. “Just look at you. Always gotta be pissy about something when you should just learn to follow orders." 

Keith's hooded eyes inch to him again. Fingers skim, light, along Lance’s exposed thigh. He smiles as Lance’s cock twitches in anticipation for something that will never come.

“Why am I not surprised it’d be that way even here.”

With as much indignance as he can still muster with his suit around his knees, Lance glares. He thunks his head against the wall in exasperation, pulls his lip between his teeth. He swears his legs are about to give out.

“Please don’t leave me like this, man. You absolute asshole. I’m gonna—”

But Keith isn’t hearing it, because the door is already closing behind him.

**Author's Note:**

> Trust me, no one wants to know how many words I’ve actually written this year. Just take this bullshit, it’s all I have the confidence to offer.


End file.
